


Christmas Doesn't Change Steve, Even with the Timey- Whimey Nonsense.

by wanderingidealism



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Happy Ending, kind angst, no seriously, read this and get dragon punched in the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingidealism/pseuds/wanderingidealism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into Steve Rogers's past Christmases up until the present.<br/>WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.<br/>I KEEP WRITING CAPTAIN FEELS.</p><p>THIS WILL MAKE YOU CRY. I wrote it for a friend for Christmas, and she sobbed.<br/>I gave my friend sad Cap- feels for Christmas, aren't I a terrible person?<br/>Property of marvel an Disney not me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is just cheesy character speculation.  
> it's like watching a bad Hallmark Christmas special that you cry at the end of anyway.  
> Seriously.  
> I even used cheesy Christmas Song lyrics as chapter titles  
> Marvel owns the Avengers. Disney too, not me  
> I don;t even know who owns the song, "Last Christmas" So all credit to them.

Steve’s Christmases were always good- even during the Depression. His mother, a kind, clever lady, always found ways of making everything work, even when they were tight on cash. She’d make large meals using leftovers from Thanksgiving, and then use the leftovers from both holidays to keep the family fed for the month after. Even when there was no large meal, she still made sure they enjoyed Christmas.

One year, when there was no money to buy a tree or a turkey, she chopped down a scraggly bush in the front yard, pulled out her scarves and jewelry from her flapper days, and used those to make the grandest tree of Steve’s memory. She splurged her last coin on small pieces of tinsel and candy, to give to her son in his stocking. She even took apart some of her clothes to stitch Steve a new shirt.

To make the star at the top of the tree, his mother broke several glass bottles of alcohol, using the multi-colored pieces of glass to create a star. She welded them together by melting a tin candlestick and wrapping the heated metal around each piece. Whenever the light caught the handmade star, it lit up like a thousand suns, decorating the room with little dots of colored light.

It was Steve’s favorite Christmas ever. It was also the last he spent with his mother, because she passed away later that year, following her husband to the grave and leaving her asthmatic and sickly son in an orphanage.


	2. I Gave You My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second chapter? not much else to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as last time.

In the orphanage, kids received new clothes as presents, which was wonderful. Kids whose relatives had no money to raise them and had left them at the old building often received gifts from home, and visits. Small packages of cookies from generous people who cared were given to the children forced to stay at an old, drab building, with no money for Christmas trees and candy.

So Steve and Bucky had the brilliant idea of making decorations themselves. They went around one day after school, searching back allies for broken bottles, and any bit of color peeking out of the freezing New York snow, packing it all in a bag and hurrying back to the orphanage as quickly as possible. They gathered a few friends, and the aid of one of their caretakers, and started stringing up the shiny bits of broken bottles on strings around the room. The two boys had saved up pennies for months, hoping they’d have enough to buy something small, which turned out to be a bag f hot popcorn from a vendor on 34th street. Bucky took a needle and thread and strung that up too. Steve drew cards with the New York skyline and hung them from whatever surface he could. The boys even made paper hats from old newspapers!

The room, when it was finished, looked crude, kind of ugly. But the bottles glowed brightly in the light, just as well as any in Rockefeller Center did. The popcorn strings and paper ornaments worked to make things seem festive.

Bucky insisted that the greatest thing in the room was the picture Steve drew on green paper with charcoal from the fire and whatever crayon stubs he could find. It was a small Christmas tree, with popcorn ornaments arranged so it looked like it was wrapped around it, and red, yellow, and blue ornaments colored all over it.

When the other boys returned, they all pooled the sweets they received (read, “stolen”) from the large dinner the local church held for the orphans onto a table. One kid had even snuck several large pieces of turkey away, while another had wrapped up hot chestnuts in his coat pocket. After dealing out the cookies, small candies, and whatever else they could- rationing everything evenly of course- all the boys held a Christmas party of their own. They even decorated the coat rack by their door as a tree- wrapping scarves around it and hanging cups and pencils from it.

Steve’s star sat on top, glistening brightly in the dim lighting provided by a candle, as if it were a tiny red and blue sentinel- a reminder of the Bethlehem star from the age of old.


	3. But the Very Next Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> third installment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go see the previous notes.

When the war hit, there wasn’t much time for celebrating Christmas. Steve usually spent it with Bucky anyway, as the awkward third wheel. His mother’s star was always on him, a reminder of his childhood. Pearl Harbor had soured the holiday for a while, made it somber, less cheery.

After he received the serum, Steve was even busier, rarely did he have time to stop and celebrate. There was a war to fight after all.

It wasn’t until late one cold night, in an abandoned village somewhere in Germany, that Steve even realized it was Christmas. One of his teammates was reading a letter, rather teary-eyed, from home. It was Jacques Dernier, with a letter from his family in France, talking about how they’re making do with what has happened, and how they’re surviving German Occupation. Steve looked over his teammate’s shoulder, to see a small picture of his entire family taped to the front, all standing around a tiny fire. He couldn’t read French, but he assumed it said something along the lines of, “Good luck, Merry Christmas, or we Love you.”

It was then Steve realized what night it actually was. Looking at the mission orders from four days ago, and doing the math, he realized that it was December 24th. Christmas Eve. No wonder his friend was upset. Dernier was often talking about his family, and their traditions- how every year they’d gather for a great big feast, crack open a bottle of red wine, and eat the sweet cakes his mother often made. His sister, a little girl around the age of nine, would sit up all night for Santa in her room, while he spun stories and tales to distract her while his parents set up for Christmas day. It was clear he loved his sister very much, and missed her even more. he had often talked about how he and the child would run around Christmas Eve, making angels and snowmen in the yard, and how they’d sneak food from the kitchen to her room an eat it while the adults talked in the rooms below. There would be a log next to the fire, to be burned on Christmas Day for good luck and harvest. The last person awake on Christmas Day would make a wish for the new year. Christmas was a grand tradition in his home.

Steve had an idea. A really great idea. Moral in his group had been down as of recent months- plus it was freezing in Germany during the winter. And seeing as they had nothing to do until the SSR arraigned for a pick up, he organized his team into two groups; Bucky, Dugan, and himself would collect supplies, while Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, and James Montgomery Falsworth distracted Dernier.

It was snowing fairly hard by the time the supply group returned. After making a thorough sweep of the surrounding area, Steve and Bucky found firewood and some canned goods that weren’t expired from another abandoned cabin up the way. Dugan however, came back with a bigger surprise.

Dugan brought not only a small but thick Christmas tree, but a small, dirty child along with him. It was a little girl, tiny, hardly older than six or seven. She was wearing little more than a thin, ragged shawl, and was clutching a large bag to her side like a life-line. Steve’s team had been told that everyone in this village abandoned it weeks ago, after shelling in the nearby Black Forest came too close for comfort. Evidently, not everyone had managed to escape.

“Where did you come from?” Gabe Jones asked, in German, a language which he knew, but was not fluent in.

The little girl was too afraid to speak. Steve shucked off his jacked and wrapped her in it, setting her down by the fire, and casting Dugan a curious glance.

“Found ‘er half-frozen in one of the other houses… there wasn’t anyone there… I think she was left behind… I’m surprised she’s still alive,” he whispered to the captain, once out of earshot of the others.

“I’m sure the SSR will find her a place to stay- might even send her to England or the States if worst comes to worst,” Bucky added, thoughtfully.

Steve nodded in agreement, starting to pull together pots and pans from the cabinets, to make some kind of Christmas meal. Bucky and Dugan grabbed their rations, as well as the remaining cans and other morsels of food they found in the houses around them. Bucky and Steve called in Morita in from the other room to help them cook, while Dernier spoke avidly to the little girl, who turned out to be fluent in French and in German. Dugan, being of no use in the kitchen, was banished into the living room with the others, where he promptly set up the large tree. The girl looked on in wonder as Dugan began to pull bits of tinfoil out of his pockets and bag, shaping them into round balls, or hearts. Jones and Dernier translated for her, after Dugan asked her to join. The grown men and the little girl gleefully began to decorate the scraggly tree.

They were nearly done, using whatever they could find strewn about the room that was metallic and shiny. Forks, spoons, knives- even a chain from a lamp nearby, when Steve and Bucky called from the kitchen. Falsworth picked the little girl up and hoisted her onto his shoulders as they left the room to wash up for dinner.

Steve noted happily that Dernier’s mood had changed by the time they sat down. Jones had said that Dernier told the little girl, Greta, all about St. Nicholas, and how he spread cheer even during war. Jones mentioned also how Dernier had been telling many stories about the team themselves, especially the brave Captain and his exploits. That explained why the little girl was staring at him starry-eyed, as if expecting him to suddenly fight off entire armies single –handedly. Steve inwardly groaned at his team’s tendency to embellish his accomplishments.

After dinner, Dugan surprised Steve even more; from his pack he magically procured a bottle of coke. Greta’s eyes lit up brighter than a metaphorical Christmas tree. Steve smiled to himself, silently wondering why the kid was left behind.

There was indeed, a small exchange of gifts. They were not wrapped in paper or even well thought-out. This was World War II, and there was no time for that. But it was the little things that counted. Dugan had found three bottles of very fine red wine, unopened and dated to ten years previous. Dernier was absolutely delighted, thanking the American soldier by returning his Bowler Hat to him, buffed up and repaired perfectly. Morita had bought a bunch of candy in an allied-controlled town a week back, and handed it out to the group. Saving the largest blocks of chocolate for Greta and Dernier. Bucky and Steve, being the two who provided pretty much the entire meal, considered that gift enough. Falsworth had been sent a bag of Christmas Poppers from home, and he shared them with the group. And Jones had given up the dessert-like portions of his rations for the enjoyment of the group after dinner.

It was getting late, and the fire had to be stoked many times when Falsworth said he had a final gift. (he had given the little girl his dog-tags as a present, having grown fond of the child’s glee over the long night- no one else mentioned it, but they had too, much to the child’s delight.) Dernier was surprised, and extremely thankful, his eyes wide and almost teary with joy at what had already been given. Falsworth pulled a large piece of wood from his pack. It was slightly singed, and made of a foreign pine, not common around this area of Germany. It was labeled in black, military ink.  
“H.Y.D.R.A” was printed on the front.  
“From the burning base that brought us all together,” Falsworth said with a laugh, tossing it onto the fire. Dernier whispered something into Jones’s ear.

“Dernier asks if that’s supposed to be the Yule Log?” Jones said with a grin.

“Of course! I found it fitting. To make a wish off the evil that unites us,” Falsworth replied, his cheeks ruddy from the wine each man had been given. (Dernier was very generous with his gifts.)

The little girl gave them a present too. She pulled from her very small pocket, a tiny silver star, hanging it up on the tree. Jones told them that it was the only thing from her house that had survived the shelling intact. Steve smiled sadly, patting the girl on the shoulder, before reaching into his own bag to pull out a small, brown box.

He handed it to the little girl, and Jones translated for him. Steve told her to open it. Greta did, slowly and carefully. Inside the package, wrapped up and protected carefully, was the glass star his mother had made so long ago. A relic he kept on him to remind him of her. It was as dear to him as the locket with Peggy’s picture. He picked Greta up and helped her place it on the tree.

There was a moment of silence, as the light reflected off of the home made tree- sloppy, unrefined, but still more beautiful than anything anyone ever saw. Dernier and Greta were both very pleased.

The small group sang and goofed off until no one but Steve was left standing. He kept watch for the rest of the night. He couldn’t help but notice the fear and sorrow had been wiped entirely from Greta’s little face, or that Dernier seemed happy- and not even in a drunken way. Everyone was relaxed. He even gave the little girl his star the next day, feeling that she would appreciate it and look fondly on it in years to come. He kept her little silver star at his side, next to the locket with Peggy’s picture in it, for months and months, even during that final flight.

It remained his most vibrant memory, even more than seventy years in the future. It was sad to look back, and it caused him to become mopey, when he realized Greta was probably dead or dying. His team had died, long after he was frozen for seventy years. Everything, even Christmas had changed.


	4. This Year, To Save Me From Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fourth and last, but there's an alternate ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate ending up next

It was now 2012, everything Steve had loved about the world had changed. Even Christmas. This caused Steve Rogers to get into a very deep funk, that seemed highly contagious to his teammates around him.  
Stark had forced him from the tower that day. Told him to go see the lights in Central Park, explore the town! See what’s changed.

In truth, much of it was the same. Children still crowded the toy shop windows, fogging the glass with their breath as they watched the displays move along with music. Ballerinas danced with grace in the windows as trains moved along their tracks. Loud advertisements blare from the TV sets in the windows of shops, and poured out from PA systems all over town. Christmas music flooded the streets along with ice and snow. It was, naturally, still freezing in New York.

Steve hated the cold. However, his eyes lit up when he spotted the man selling hot chestnuts and roasted peanuts, just like in the thirties. He spotted men in red suits and white beards, calling for donations in the streets. The Salvation Army Santas doing their jobs.

Those sights brought back fond memories, but others just frustrated him to no end. Advertisements calling for people to buy more, more, more, and low prices everywhere blotted out the songs drifting in the air. There was a lot of emphasis on buying gifts for everyone because that’s what Christmas is about. 

It made Steve sick. Christmas was commercialized entirely. He didn’t like how stores used the sacred holiday to their own advantage. Why couldn’t anyone be happy with simple things, looking forward to the feeling of being together with people who loved you? His Christmas-es never needed to be elaborate with many gifts. All he needed was his mother happy, and his family together. He remembered how his team made Christmas out of essentially nothing- how his mother had really made Christmas out of absolutely nothing. He didn’t want to be a Debbie-downer, but to him the basic fact that Christmas was now being used as a marketing campaign was absolutely disgusting. He longed to go back to his time, when it seemed values actually mattered.

He trudged his way back to the tower through the snow, longing to beat the sand out of yet another punching bag or three, mind lost once again back in the forties. He made his way through Central Park slowly, lost in thought. Naturally he didn’t see the snowball flying at him until it literally hit him in the face.

“Sorry sir!” a voice cried from a few feet away. It was a boy, hidden behind a fort dug deep in the four-foot pile cleared off the sidewalk in the center of the park. A group of children had been engaging in a snowball war- complete with forts and pathways. Three groups of kids had joined together to defeat each other.

They themed the entire battle off of the battle of Manhattan.

The Boy in question was even bearing a trash can lid painted to look like a Captain America shield. (though the stripes were backwards, but Steve didn’t say anything) the boy’s hat was blue, with a giant star in the center, and his jacket was based off of the good Captain’s uniform. His partner was wearing a red and gold jacket designed to look like Stark’s suit; there was even a spot that looked like the reactor.

The boys’ eyes lit up when they realized who they had just smacked dead in the face with a ball of frozen water. the boy dressed as the captain’s jaw dropped, along with his shield. Little iron man did a double take- twice, which was priceless.

Steve wished he could operate a cell phone. Then he could have snapped the most brilliant photo ever.

A little red-haired girl called a time-out, as the rest of the children in the group hurried over to see what the buzz was all about. Steve chuckled as several of the kids’ parents whipped out their cell phones and snapped a picture.

“good job idiot! You smacked Captain America in the face with a snow ball!” little Iron man said, pinching the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand.

Little captain stammered an apology, obviously speechless before his idol.

“Hey it’s fine- It was an accident,” Steve chuckled, as he heard familiar footsteps walk up behind him.

“Son of Rogers, the Man of Iron says you may come back to the tower now,” Thor said, in a booming voice that made several kids jump, and a little girl with bright blue eyes nearly swoon in delight, dropping her foam hammer on the kid next to her. Steve grinned as Clint and Bruce walked up beside the Norse god.

“if it’s all the same to Stark, I think I’ll stay out a little longer… I just got a really good idea,” Steve said, looking around at the snow war.

“Hey… umm… would you play with us? Please?” the little red-head asked, batting huge green eyes. Steve turned his gaze at the other three Avengers, flashing equally as potent puppy-dog eyes at them.

“Shit. He’s using them!’ Clint muttered, trying to avoid the trap.

“I don’t think I can- the other guy might not like it,” Bruce stammered, trying to avoid the eyes as well.

“I WISH TO PARTAKE IN THIS MORTAL GAME!” Thor said loudly, this time causing a snowman to topple to the ground, which he apologized profusely for.

It wasn’t until after Steve and Thor got three of the children to beg (and challenge Barton- challenging always works) that the other two agreed. Calling Natasha and Tony out to join them. The other two had been doing secretive things around the tower all day, aided by Pepper and Jarvis. The other three were tasked with watching Steve as he made his way through New York City. None of them expected to be drawn into a child’s game on their way home.

It was forever known on youtube as, “The Second Battle of Manhattan” or by the more popular title, “The Most Epic Snowball Fight Ever Fought.”

Thor even wrote an epic about it, and the valor shown by Midgardian children as they bravely squared off against each other, armed only with snow and ice. He sided with the team Steve joined, the one led by the mini-captain. The little boy dressed in red and gold traded sides and joined Stark.

Tony even recorded the whole thing with JARVIS, after he and Natasha arrived. Natasha instantly glared at Clint after being nailed in the breasts by him. With a yellow snow ball. Her little red-haired protégé learned much that day.

Needless to say, the team Clint had sided with lost the battle, and Clint ended up leaving with several bruises, and a sore groin.

Tony and Bruce squared off against the captain, aided by Natasha, who used subterfuge to lure the enemy into a small area surrounded by bushes, where they were ambushed by Stark and Banner, who led their teams valiantly and with skill.

Somehow, Tony and the little Iron Man managed to build a snowball cannon, using nothing but pieces of Tony’s Stark phone, and random bits of discarded soda bottles. The team has yet to figure out how they accomplished it, without the equipment to weld the pieces together.

Clint’s team, despite having the higher ground, was still given a run for their money- especially after Clint and his tiny co-leader nailed Natasha with a ball made of yellow snow.

He was in the dog house for three weeks, but it was worth it.

By the time the game had ended, the temperature had dropped, and night was falling. The lights around the park were lit up and blazing like stars, as lights in the surrounding area began to glow brightly.

The kids said goodbye as parents led them from the park, their cameras and phones full of pictures and videos from that day. Youtube and facebook were bound to explode with clips from the game, as tumblr did not even an hour after they arrived at the warm tower.

Steve noticed all of the internal lights were off in the pent house apartment- which was odd, since Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey were at the tower, the latter two joining Tony for the Holidays as usual. He was still trying to figure out what was going on, when Clint ushered him from the elevator, and into the living room.

“JARVIS! Lights!” Tony shouted, and Steve’s jaw dropped. Tony, Natasha, and Pepper had spent all day-literally all day- decorating the house with holly, mistletoe, lights, and any other decoration Tony could buy (so pretty much like a Christmas explosion.) there was not a room in the house that was not decorated, not a wall left without tinsel, nor a window without lights. Tony and Thor had gone to the trouble of flying around the tower with streamers of tinsel, and strings of LED lights, making the entire building appear to be a Christmas tree. Jarvis had found tracks of Christmas music from the thirties and forties, and Clint and Pepper had brought out old Christmas movies. Natasha spiked the eggnog (and procured the vodka) and Thor had made some Asgardian dishes, even asking the All Father for mead, in order to help observe a Midgardian festival- something he had been geared up for, for weeks. (a wish that was granted).

Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis even came up for a visit from New Mexico. Steve couldn’t believe it, he almost started to cry.

He really did cry, later, when Tony handed him a box. It was very late at this point, most of the festivities (and drinking contests) had died down, Clint had stopped rambling about how Santa existed, Natasha had successfully mortified everyone with tales of Russia’s Santa. Tony had by this point stopped heckling Bruce about if the other Guy was on the Naughty List.

And Thor had stopped asking about Midgardian traditions- especially about that of Mistletoe, which he called “God-slayer” because of a long, complicated story he refused to talk about, soiling the holiday spirit. (that and Jane’s lips were firmly planted on his as he stood underneath it, silencing all protests.)

The mead hadn’t even been opened yet, and Darcy was already hammered, when she pointed out no one put the star on the top of the Christmas tree. Granted, she was pointing at a window sticker of an evergreen tree at the time, so everyone was skeptical, but then they noticed her words were truth.

“What is the significance of the star? Why does it mean so much to you on Midgard? That moving picture with the reindeer ad his glowing nose did nothing to aid me in the quest of understanding,” Thor asked, a pleading look in his eye.

“The star is a symbol of hope and guidance…. It led the three Wise Men to Bethlehem on the night of Christ’s birth… it also was the sign of Christ’s birth,” Steve explained, beginning to tell the story of Jesus’s birth, as he had heard it as a child.

“That is a great tale… it is almost sad… so this Jesus is like our Balder?” Thor asked earnestly, eyes sad and wide.

“I guess… but let’s leave that tale for later… we need to find a suitable star!” Steve said, jumping up.

“Steve, we have one… it was given to dad a long time ago… When I was very little,” Tony smiled, pulling out a small box, worn with age. (there is an alternate ending to this part I couldn’t decide which story I liked more)

Steve’s eyes widened as Tony pulled out a roughly-made star, wrapped only in tissue paper, with a small note stuck to it, from the little box. It was well worn, but still intact, the tiny pieces of glass glistening like jewels.

“Where did you get that?” Steve breathed, his baby blues prickling with tears.

“when I was six, my dad had a meeting with a CEO from France. They were working to reconstruct Paris after the war. Dad had convinced mom to let me go, so I could meet with the men who served with Captain America- dad had also arraigned a get together, and paid for all of their tickets and lodgings. It was in a small hotel in France where we met them all, and a girl probably about nineteen or twenty… she was there with the box. I never really got the full story, but evidently she knew you and the whole team, and they were ecstatic. Dernier had taken her in after the war I guess, and raise her like his own child… she handed me the box with the star in it, saying it was very special, and belonged to someone even more so. Dad told me to keep it safe, so I did… I placed it with the Christmas stuff and pulled it out every year as our tree topper. I was never told the full story, sadly. I had to read Dernier’s book about it later on. I figured, it had been with me so long, it was time to return it to its proper owner,” Tony smiled, handing the delicate decoration to Steve, who found his hands suddenly shaking.

He never realized how much that star meant to him, that roughly-made trinket of tin, a gift made to create a Christmas from practically nothing but a few scarves, cheap jewelry, and kitchen scraps. He never realized how much that star had really made Christmas until now, when his team stood around him as he placed it on top of the tree, where it rightfully belonged. It was a tiny thing, but meant so much to him and to others…. Steve couldn’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes, and no one commented about them either.

The star twinkled brightly in the dim lights, as the silent group stood and watched. To anyone else watching, it meant absolutely nothing; just a cheap relic made out of desperation; but to the assembled group in the small room on that cold night, it was the most beautiful, brightest light in the entire city.


	5. I'll Give It To Someone Special.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go see the other notes.
> 
> Hope you liked the story!!

ALTERNATE ENDING

“We shtill need (hic!) a shtar1” Darcy slurred, stumbling to her feet. She was staring at the window, a mug of Asgardian mead clutched firmly in her hands.

“H-Hold on a second. I gotta… find the demned box,” Tony said, trying not to fall face first. Pepper was praying JARVIS was filming the drunken Avengers attempting to continue celebrating after having consumed several glasses of the “magic booze” as Tony put it, “sent directly from across the rainbow bridge.”

“You are very amusing midgardians! But I advise you not to consume any more mead… I do not think Lady Potts would appreciate a trip to the… healing rooms on this glorious evening!” Thor laughed, as Jane cuddled into his side.

“BUT N”TASHA! HE IS REAL! JUST NOT LIKE YOUR CREEPY, RUSSIAN, VOODOO SANTA!!” Clint whined, as the Black Widow rolled her eyes, only the slightest bit tipsy.

“I don’t care what you think Clint, I’m telling you I saw the Goddamn doll move that night! I don’t care if you pass it off as me being hallucinating because of the lack of sleep a six-year-old gets on Christmas, I stand by my story!” Natasha snapped, glaring as Clint continued to doubt her childhood encounters.

“I don’t really remember Christmas too well… though there was that one time in India where I celebrated the Festival of Lights… that was amazing… I can never forget it,” Bruce said, nodding his head. 

“STAAARK!! HAVEYOU FOUND THE STAR YET?! I WANNA GIVE SPANGLES HIS PRESENT!!!” Darcy shouted, this time leaning against the doctor, whom she thought was Tony. 

“Miss Lewis, I believe you have mistaken Dr. Banner for Mr. Stark,” Jarvis sighed, his tone implying that if he had eyes he’d be rolling them.

“Darcy, I think you should sit down,” Steve urged, moving towards her, but getting blocked by Stark, who thrust a package into his hands. It was addressed to him, from Germany.

There was a note inside the package, written in neat cursive, on plain note paper. It smelled like gingerbread, and was written in blue ink. It had been a while since Steve received anything handwritten; he and Thor were under the impression that everything was done electronically in this age, and that no one had the time to sit and write a letter. He sat down while everyone stood around him, watching closely as Steve carefully opened the letter and read it out loud.

“Dear Captain Rogers,  
You don’t know me, but you do know my grandmother. She was only seven in 1943 when you met her, in a small, abandoned village in Germany, all those years ago. She told us that story every year at Christmas while we decorated the tree.  
She said she was hiding in the ruins of her house, freezing. The bombs had killed her parents and no one had come for her. She was cold and scared, sitting in her wrecked living room, dressed in little but a fine Christmas dress and her mother’s shawl. She had nothing but a few family heirlooms left on her person. She was convinced she was going to die that night, shivering, when your man, Dugan, broke down the door that had trapped her inside. He looked confused upon seeing her, but shrugged it off, smiling. He called out in English, to see in anyone was there, and upon realizing it was just him and her in the house, he helped her up, grabbed a few items from the kitchen, and led her outside. He dragged a small tree behind him as he went.  
She said she was scared, because her papa had said Americans were the bad guys, even though her Mama disagreed, stating that there were bad men in the government as well, urgung her to not get involved in outside affairs. She didn’t know what words your men were using, until Gabriel Jones knelt down to her level and spoke to her in sloppy German.  
She hadn’t told him the whole story, still trembling with cold, even after you gave her your jacket- a present that I still wear from time to time- and she stayed near Jones for most of the evening.  
Until she realized Dernier could speak French. He told her all sorts of stories, adding to them as Falsworth, Morita, and Jones added on, Jones translating for her as the night progressed. They tended to keep things a little on the vague side concerning who they were fighting- not that H.Y.D.R.A was well liked by the village anyway, for the fact that the base built there was why the village was bombed and why most of the villagers lived in fear of the scientists inside the compound. Their stories helped to ease her fear.  
When your men shared a meal with her, and then Gave her chocolate, she couldn’t have been more grateful. Grandmother had not had chocolate in days- food becoming scarce during this part of the war… She was extremely happy, for the first time in days, and the pain of being alone had finally subsided. She was no longer afraid she’d die that night.  
Captain Rogers, she had always spoken very highly of you and your men, especially Dugan, Dernier, and Jones, who told the best stories, and helped her decorate a tree. You really did save Christmas for her, and gave her hope. (she folded up the wrappers of the chocolate Morita gave her, and placed them in a photo album, next to a picture you drew of her and the team that night.) She hopes you kept her silver star, an ornament handed down through generations of her family- a token of good luck for our family for years.  
What I really wrote to you for, concerns a gift you gave her that night, one that she has cherished since her childhood. After the SSR picked you up the next day, and then gave her a temporary home until the end of the war (Dernier took her in and raised her after he was done serving, I called him great-grandfather) she became involved in rebuilding Europe after the devastating war. She eventually married and had children, then grandchildren. Every year we would spend it in a small house in Germany, and travel an hour by car through the snow to a small, ruined village in the Black Forest, luckily not hindered by border control. There, grandmother would place a wreath of flowers in memory of those lost there, and a Christmas wreath, decorated with silverware and tinfoil. We’d decorate the tree on Christmas Eve, and she would place the star on top… a lopsided, roughly-made star, forged out of tin and glass bottle pieces, sometimes bits of glass jewelry. And then she’d tell us that story… The story of the men who saved her life on December 24th, 1943.  
Captain Rogers, my grandmother passed on a few months before news you had been found was released. She would have been overjoyed to see you, this I know. I am 17-years-old, and every year since before I was born, we have used your star fondly as a tree-topper, and it is probably worth more to us than anything this world can offer us. Which is why I thought it best to return it to you. My cousins and siblings all agreed that, since it was your present to us, we should return it. You’ll need something familiar in this odd age, something to look upon and remind you that Christmas doesn’t change, no matter what age it is.  
I hope this letter find you in good cheer, and I thank you for all of your service, not only to the world, but to my grandmother.  
Merry Christmas, Captain,  
Greta Fitzwilliam the II.

Steve tried to hold back the tears, but failed. The team, even drunk, was silent, appreciating the moment. Steve had received a blast from the past- a gift that followed him through Christmas during bleak and hopeless times. Even Thor was silent out of respect.

“Steve… open it,” Natasha quietly urged, as Steve turned to the present on the table. With shaking hands, Steve undid the brown paper and strings. He pulled out the tiny box, wrapped in bright packaging and undid the ribbons around it. Slowly pulling out the worn, brown, leather box- faded with age- he opened it.

It had not changed since he last saw it. It was a little older, the tin less bright than it once was. The glass pieces still glistened like starlight, as if it held in its roughly-made shape all the magic of Christmas. Steve smiled, choking through another sob.

“Son of Rogers, let us place the trinket where it belongs,” Thor said, solemnly. Steve nodded, standing up and walking toward the grand tree in the center of the room, which Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, Tony, and all of the Avengers had decorated with garlands and ornaments (many of the Avengers themselves, and some shaped like Cap’s shield. One was even an old ARC reactor!!).

Steve paused for a moment, lost in thought as Snow blew gently outside the window. He smiled, realizing that, despite the commercialism and the age gap between himself and the rest of the world, that Christmas really hadn’t changed all that much when you got down to it. He gently placed his mother’s star at the top of the tree, where it caught the firelight.

The rest of the night until Darcy passed out in Steve’s lap from alcohol, and the others promptly followed after watching every Christmas Special from the fifties to the mid-sixties, the star watched on. A twinkling sentinel to a changing time, but an unchanging tradition.


End file.
